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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337679">A Daffodil, from Death</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nine_3quarters/pseuds/Nine_3quarters'>Nine_3quarters</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Domestic Fluff, Existentialism and Immortality, F/M, First Love, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore), Mythology - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:00:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,795</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nine_3quarters/pseuds/Nine_3quarters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The astonishment renews itself. He has difficulty believing what has just occured—that he has accidentally abducted her.<br/>“It is you,” she whispers.<br/>“There has been a mistake.” he tells her. “You should not be here.”<br/>“What has occurred?” she asks him.<br/>“It appears,” he takes a moment to collect himself, “It appears I have successfully abducted you.”<br/>She stares at him. Hades wishes she would stop looking straight into his eyes.<br/>“There was a slight miscalculation on my part,” he tells her. He hasn’t felt this embarrassed in over two centuries. “I wasn’t meant to succeed.”</p><p>Or, immortals falling in love—unwillingly and for the very first time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hades/Persephone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Daffodil, from Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Greek Mythology!<br/>Okay, listen, I tried to be as accurate as possible, but Google and Percy Jackson trivia can only go so far.<br/>Also, I've obviously taken liberties with the characters and the original myth. Because yes. :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The realm of the living isn’t dark. Apollo sees to that. He makes sure the mortals receive light. He makes sure they become accustomed to it. Obsessed with it. And in it, they learn to fear its absence. What hides in the dark? What creatures, what monsters, what spirits? And they are to be feared, of course. But why? Why do these—<em> things </em> inspire terror? Because they are different? Because they are unknown? </p><p>No, of course not, that’s foolish, that’s foolish. A mortal mind is ephemeral, but not always foolish. The things that find a home in the dark, the things that are the darkness itself, they inspire fear because if they catch you, they’ll tear the very flesh off your bones. They’ll rip out your eyeballs, they’ll make leather of your skin. Of course they will. Why? Because that’s what they do. Of course it’s true, it has to be true. It’s what everyone’s always known. It’s what everyone’s always been told—by the creatures that live in the light. </p><p>The creatures that live in the light, the things that aren’t ugly, the things that sparkle and shine and are covered by a simple golden sheen. The things that don’t tear the flesh off your bones, no, never. That’s untoward. These things—the things of the light—they smile at you, sweetly, ever so very sweetly, and in one fell swoop they own your heart. And once it is theirs, they squeeze it—at first lightly, and then harder, and harder, and <em> harder. </em>Until your mortal heart is gone. Until all that remains is an ache, a vacancy. These things of the light, they leave you alive. Sympathetic, aren’t they? So very sympathetic. They leave you alive and wishing for death. So sympathetic, so kind, these things of the light, these beautiful creatures.</p><p>And, of course, it is the darkness that is to be feared. Always, always the darkness. Because darkness is Absence, and all the mortals have ever known is Existence. They don’t know what to do with Absence. It scares them. It reminds them of the ache inside themselves, the vacancies left by each other. And they call these pains, in their unbeknown irony, demons. They call these scars—left behind by creatures of the light—their demons. Some fear their demons, some love them, others despise them. The sole consensus is that these demons hurt, and throb, and ache. They cause suffering. And the things of the light are the ones that weep and console, of course. That is simply how it is. </p><p>Why? Because the light is good, and the dark is bad. Morality is tied to the light. It is the way of the world, the way of the realm of the living. The very Gods themselves, on their shining pedestals, cushions and thrones, have decreed it so. There is nothing to be done about it.</p><p>Even at its darkest, the realm of the living isn’t dark. Not even remotely. The mortals have done well with Prometheus’ gift. They have evolved and innovated. They have prospered. And in their progress they have left behind the darkness.</p><p>Everything began in darkness. Before Mother, and Father, before Gaia, even. In Chaos, at the beginning. Or perhaps before even then. At the very beginning—the peace, the silence, the darkness. That’s all. That’s all there was, and no-one to fear it. It was a comfort. Or more than that, even. It simply <em> was. </em> It simply was, and that was all.</p><p>And then came—<em> immortality. </em> The first consciousness. But still, it was dark.</p><p>It was dark for eons, and then more. How very beautiful it all must have been. How very gentle.</p><p>The realm of the living isn’t dark, not even a little bit. Not even in the forgotten crevices where the mortals have not yet stepped. Because even there, even in those forgotten places, the light pervades. Sometimes it is Artemis and her maidens. Other times it is the stars—those immortalised heroes, those poor souls. <em> To Be, </em> forever—what worse punishment, truly.</p><p>The realm of the living isn’t dark, not ever.</p><p>And Hades hates it.</p><p>He hates the light. He hates the way it illuminates everything, gives it a shape, a colour, an appearance. There are no abstractions in the light. Everything is clearer than necessary. So clear that even beauty begins to look ugly, if one stares for long enough. He hates the way the light burns him. It burns his immortal flesh, his immortal eyes. Of course, the pain isn’t lasting. It can’t be, for ichor flows through his veins—as golden as Apollo’s sun, or Poseidon’s trident, or Demeter’s wheat.</p><p>Hades hates the light. The light rejects him. The entire realm of the living rejects him. What does that mean? What does it mean to be rejected by light, itself? To be rejected by life? Of course, it means that he is evil. Don’t you know? Everyone knows. Their whispers travel in the wind and rustle the leaves at night. The night which is never <em> truly </em>dark.</p><p>Hades hates it all.</p><p>He hates it all—everything even remotely associated with light: Life, morality, beauty.</p><p>What is life? For an immortal, it is pain. It is eternal suffering, an eternal punishment. For a mortal, there is more meaning—there is true happiness, there is true joy, but it is all limited. It lasts, and then it ends. Like a breath, it is gone. And then there is nothing but the pain of those left behind. How wretched. What is so great about life?</p><p>What is morality? What is morality but the consensus of a group? There is no true Right, nor is there a true Wrong. Even in the realm of the Gods, these concepts do not exist. There is only desire, and judgement. Morality is a farce. What is so great about a farce?</p><p>And beauty? Beauty, beauty, beauty. Oh, it is the worst of them all. Outer beauty is a punishment. It is a magnet for envy, hatred, and lust. And if enough of this wretchedness is experienced, those lips—which look as if they’ve been made of Ambrosia and then sweetened by Nectar—are turned poisonous. A single kiss is enough to kill. </p><p>And inner beauty? What is more horrible than that? What in the whole Cosmos is more utterly deplorable? Inner beauty strips away at one’s heart and digs itself a place. It gives a mortal’s life meaning, it is a source of happiness. But existence is cruel—it always has been—and the games it plays portend the death of the inwardly beautiful. For to be beautiful on the inside, one must be mortal. Cruelty is a mark of immortality; kindness is a mortal trait. And the inwardly beautiful, they are so very beautiful, so wholly capable of entrancing the beings around them, that their very existence is cursed. They die—always, they die—and in their absence they leave behind a gaping wound that aches, and aches, and never stops aching. Nothing should be able to inflict so much suffering. It is horrendous, truly.</p><p>All immortals despise the inwardly beautiful. They fear them. There is nothing to fear of corporeal beauty—it is simply a pleasure. But to be kind? To be sympathetic and gentle and soft? Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. To lose that beauty would drive a mortal to death. But an immortal would have to suffer through existence. There is no end to the pain if one is immortal. It is everlasting. A gaping wound that never closes. A hole that can never be filled.</p><p>And if an immortal tries to preserve that beauty? Well, cruelty is a mark of immortality. True beauty is ruined the very second it is granted immortality.</p><p>And so Hades hates it all. He can stand absolutely none of it.</p><p>He finds solace in the dark, he finds solace in his realm. His house, The House of Hades, The Underworld. The land of the dead, the land of darkness, the land of retribution and the land of peace. The land of eternal peace. In his realm, Hades is free. Even with all the suffering, even with all the sinners, Hades is free. Why? Because the sinners are repenting, and those who deserve peace finally have it.</p><p>And Hades remembers this every time he leaves his realm. Every time the light burns him, and the living reject him. Every time he hears the whispers of <em> fear </em> and <em> horror, Oh, Hades, Hades, </em> and he just wishes the mortals had never heard of him at all. He wishes he could just <em> be, </em> he wishes he could just <em> be </em> and not have to <em> exist </em> for them <em> . </em></p><p>He wishes for peace most of all. But true peace only exists in true darkness. True peace only exists in death, absolute death, after even the after-life. And so Hades wishes the most for death.</p><p>But he is immortal, and not granted such mercies.</p><p>So he continues to exist and simply hates it all.</p><p>It is a little hard to remember all that when he sees <em> her </em>for the first time.</p><p>When he sees her, for the very first time, walking in a field of flowers, wearing a white chiton. When he hates her for being beautiful.</p><p>When he sees her again, wearing the same white chiton, walking in a field of grain. And he notices that her blood runs gold, not red. And he notices Demeter.</p><p>When he thinks about her in his darkness. And then he finds himself wishing to see her again. And he asks himself, <em> What is it about this child? </em></p><p>And when he notices her smile and thinks of life. </p><p>When he finally realises what she reminds him of.</p><p>She reminds him of light.</p><p>And in all his existence, never has Hades hated another being as much as her.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Persephone’s life is monotony. It is a humdrum.</p><p>Mother tells her it is the curse of immortality. Persephone is compelled to believe her. She has no other point of reference. </p><p>Of course, the monotony isn’t horrible. It’s… nice, according to the nymphs. Again, Persephone has no other point of reference.</p><p>The feeling of the grass beneath her feet, the feeling of the pleasant spring wind (is it pleasant? Persephone doesn’t know. <em> Everything </em>is pleasant, it seems), the smell of the blooming flowers. It’s all so… nice. Isn’t it?</p><p>Is it nice?</p><p>If Persephone hears another person say yes, she’s going to scream.</p><p>She’s going to scream and ruin Mother’s lovely little bubble of natural perfection.</p><p>Persephone is sick and tired of ‘nice’. She is sick and tired of <em> being </em>nice. She’s not nice. Not even remotely. And she’s sick of pretending to be something she’s not. What is the point of benevolence if it’s not genuinely meant?</p><p>Persephone is even <em> more </em>sick and tired of all the marriage proposals.</p><p>She hates being beautiful. She hates her golden hair. She hates her azure eyes. She’s just so <em> sick </em> and <em> tired </em>of it all!</p><p>Mostly, she hates being told to grow up. She hates being marginalised by her mother for being young. Persephone may only have existed for a few centuries, but she’s certain she knows a few things about… well, existence.</p><p>For one, all the Olympians—or, at least, the ones she’s met—are horrible people. Her father especially. They’re all selfish and cruel and <em> old. </em> So very <em> old. Way </em>too old for her. If she gets another marriage proposal from an old man she’s going to scream.</p><p>And their <em> beards! </em> Persephone <em> hates </em> beards. They’re just… <em> creepy. </em>She doesn’t understand why all the mortal men are sporting one these days.</p><p>She’s so sick of Godly beauty. She’s so incredibly sick of shining hair and shining eyes and perfect teeth. Hephaestus is her favourite person, right now. Honestly, she’d marry him if he wasn’t so dead set on being loyal to Aphrodite (that horrible Goddess). Some days, Persephone concocts a twisted plan to seduce Hephaestus away. Aphrodite may be the Goddess of Beauty, herself, but Persephone has <em> youth </em>on her side. What’s so great about beauty? Everyone’s beautiful. But youth? Youth is powerful. Persephone truly believes that if she puts her mind to it, she can seduce Hephaestus away.</p><p>When Persephone mentions this to her mother, she is condemned to a week within her personal flower field. She makes a personal note to be more secretive in the future.</p><p>It is while Persephone is bored (as is the norm) and irritated (as is increasingly becoming the new norm) that she notices the—apparition?</p><p>It is hard to look at it, though Persephone finally manages to ascertain that it is, in fact, a man. She suppresses the urge to scream—the nymphs around her will tell her mother and then she will have to suffer through another punishment.</p><p>It is likely, Persephone thinks, that this apparition is another suitor. Persephone <em> hates </em>suitors. She hates them. She hates the very sight of this apparition. She’s too young to be married! She wants to be like Artemis! Or Athena! They’re both brilliant!</p><p>What Persephone <em> doesn’t </em> want to be is <em> married. </em> Or pursued. By <em> apparitions! </em></p><p>So she ignores it. (Him? They?)</p><p>It appears again, a month later, and Persephone ignores it again.</p><p>Then, a year passes in monotony and familiarity and <em> marriage proposals </em> and <em> suppressed screams </em>and Persephone finds herself thinking about the apparition. Thinking about how it never does anything other than watch her.</p><p>What if it isn’t a suitor?</p><p>Oh.</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>How embarrassing.</p><p>...How interesting.</p><p>The next time, Persephone walks closer, feigning ignorance. The apparition—is it an escaped spirit? Is it a demigod?—gives no indication it realises what she is doing. Persephone smiles to herself.</p><p>The apparition doesn’t.</p><p>Smile, that is.</p><p>The apparition never smiles. The apparition never does anything other than simply watch in silence. Which is perfectly fine in Persephone’s opinion. She doesn’t mind being watched. What else is there to do, anyway? It does make her curious, though. She wishes the apparition could find some courage and speak to her.</p><p>She wonders whether she should speak to it, herself.</p><p>What would she say? <em> Hi, my name is Persephone, I’m the Goddess of… I don’t know, actually. I’m the Goddess of being my mother’s daughter, I guess. And you? What are you? A ghost? An apparition? A eudaemon? A cacodaemon?</em></p><p>It occurs to Persephone, for the first time, that she is probably just as boring as her life.</p><p>And she wonders why it bothers her to think of the apparition’s reaction.</p><p>Every-time he comes by, she tries to get closer. It becomes a game of sorts. She begins to look forward to his visits. It’s odd, really. He’s utterly insipid. He never does anything. All he does is stand there in his stupid chariot and watch her.</p><p>He is very obviously a foreign entity. The Mortal Realm is rejecting him—it’s blurring his lines. He’s unbelievably difficult to look at. It’s three years before she manages to catch it—the colour of his eyes.</p><p>Darker than anything she’s ever seen before. Utterly breath-taking.</p><p>He’s utterly breath-taking.</p><p>It shocks her. She hadn’t expected… beauty. It bores her.</p><p>It would have been so much more interesting if he <em> wasn’t </em> beautiful. <em> Must be a eudaemon, </em>she thinks.</p><p>She loses interest in him.</p><p>Which is just as well because he doesn’t visit her for the next decade. It appears that he’s lost interest in her as well. She begins to find it harder to suppress her screams. It takes her a while to realise that she’s irritated.</p><p><em> Oh, </em> she thinks, <em> How interesting. </em></p><p>The next time he visits, she walks straight up to him.</p><p>“You’ve been watching me,” she says.</p><p>He looks down at her. He’s easier to look at from this proximity. Or perhaps harder. His eyes aren’t friendly.</p><p>“Do you want to marry me?” she asks.</p><p>His eyes are hostile. And so completely dark. Onyx. Just like his hair.</p><p>“I don’t want to marry you.” she continues. “I want to marry Hephaestus. I’m going to seduce him away from Aphrodite one day.”</p><p>He still won’t reply. <em> What’s wrong with him? </em>Persephone thinks.</p><p>“Can you talk?” she asks. “You’re a eudaemon, aren’t you?”</p><p>He scrutinises her with interest. His eyes are equally as hostile as before.</p><p>“I’m a Goddess.” she tells him, imperiously. She leaves out the part about being the Goddess of Her Mother’s Daughter. “Don’t you think you’re being rude to me?”</p><p>His eyes are so very dark. Persephone doesn’t believe she’s ever seen anything so dark in her entire life. She’s always in the light—it’s so completely boring.</p><p>“You’re not a cacodaemon, are you?” she asks him. When he doesn’t reply, she becomes increasingly sure that he is. She tilts her head at him. “You’re very beautiful.” she observes. “You must be a very successful cacodaemon.”</p><p>He doesn’t reply.</p><p>“You can’t speak, can you?” she asks him, “Is it a curse?”</p><p>No response.</p><p>“Are you in love with me?” she asks him, suspiciously. “Please don’t be. I don’t want you to love me. I don’t love you.”</p><p>He laughs. Persephone startles. The sound is cruel and hollow and empty. It’s the most interesting sound she’s ever heard in her entire life. She waits for him to speak.</p><p>All he does is gaze at her contemptuously. It occurs to her that he probably hates her.</p><p>“Do you hate me?” she demands.</p><p>He smiles. She is frustrated to find that his smile is as lovely as his laugh is awful.</p><p>“Why?” she asks him. “What have I done to warrant your hate?”</p><p>He doesn’t reply.</p><p>“Do not disrespect a Goddess.” she hisses. “Fear for your life, Cacodaemon.”</p><p>He smiles again.</p><p>“You <em> are </em>in love with me, aren’t you?” Persephone accuses. “I told you not to be! Stop it!”</p><p>He shakes his head and turns away. He’s leaving. He hadn’t said a single word to Persephone. She doesn’t know when he’ll return. This can’t be the end. It <em> can’t. </em></p><p>She leans forward and takes a hold of his hand. It is astonishingly cold. The contact startles them both. They both flinch away.</p><p>The cacodaemon glares down at her. Persephone is glad for his anger. She is glad for this reaction.</p><p>And then he speaks, and his voice carries with it the deep husk of time, “Watch yourself, Child.”</p><p>Persephone’s jaw drops. <em> “Child?” </em></p><p>But he is leaving already, he is leaving, he is gone. Persephone watches his carriage fade. Where is it going? Where is <em> he </em>going? Why didn’t he take her with him? Does he truly not love her?</p><p>When she looks down, she notices the grass his carriage was standing on.</p><p>It is dead.</p><p>She kneels down and waves a hand over it. The limp, brown strands awaken in a vibrant green.</p><p>It takes her a while to realise she’s smiling.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Hades truly believes that the child is crazy.</p><p>To have grasped the hand of the King of The Underworld… is she stupid? Are all the young immortals like her? Hades finds himself constantly irritated. She actually dared to <em> touch him. </em> She dared to—to say that he <em> loved her. </em> That he was a <em> cacodaemon. </em></p><p>She truly <em> is </em>stupid.</p><p>Perhaps she is the Goddess of Stupidity.</p><p>Though Hades <em> swears </em>that’s Aphrodite’s title… </p><p>What had the child said, again? She is going to <em> seduce </em>Hephaestus away? Does she really think she can win against Beauty, herself?</p><p>She is arrogant. Just like her father. And her mother.</p><p>Hades hates her parents. Honestly, Hades hates her, as well.</p><p>He hates her more when he just—can’t stop.</p><p>Can’t stop <em> thinking.  </em></p><p>About her. About the touch of her skin. The warmth.</p><p>Her indignant expression. Her idiocy.</p><p>And he finds himself… even more irritated than before.</p><p>He hates that child with every fibre of his immortal being.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome back, Cacodaemon.” Persephone smiles. “I brought you a flower.”</p><p>The cacodaemon makes no move to take the flower. He never makes any move. He remains as still as an Immortal, always. She lifts the earth beneath her feet and places the flower behind his ear. It shrivels up on contact with his skin. Persephone smiles.</p><p>“It looks nicer dead,” she says. It does. The petals furl and lose their vibrancy. They gain character in doing so, and it is lovely.</p><p>The cacodaemon, with a surly expression on his face and a dead flower behind his ear, is equally as lovely.</p><p>“If you asked me to marry you, I’d say yes,” Persephone tells him.</p><p>He laughs.</p><p>Persephone glares at him. “I am a <em> Goddess.” </em></p><p>He continues to laugh. The sound isn’t cruel, like the first time. It has evolved over their repeated interactions. Now, it is gentle, and deep, and—and warm. His eyes are crinkled. His hair is falling forward, it’s covering his brow.</p><p>“I’ll marry you if you ask me.” Persephone repeats.</p><p>He laughs even harder.</p><p><em> “What.” </em>she hisses, irritated by his mirth.</p><p>“You are arrogant, Child,” he smiles at her. </p><p>“I am a <em> Goddess.” </em></p><p>“The Goddess of…?”</p><p>Persephone blushes. “Don’t be impertinent!”</p><p>He laughs again. Persephone could look at him forever, like this.</p><p>“Can I ask you a question?”</p><p>He doesn’t respond.</p><p>“In return for amusing you,” she adds.</p><p>He smiles and nods his head in acquiescence.</p><p>“Do you love me?”</p><p>He stops smiling. His eyes stop crinkling. Persephone regrets ever asking the question. She wants him to go back to how he was. He was so—happy. He was so happy. Persephone likes it when he’s happy. He seems closer, more attainable.</p><p>He gazes at her for a silent beat. “No.” he says, eventually. “I hate you.”</p><p>Persephone flushes in anger. The flowers around her begin to grow rapidly in response to her emotions. They grow branches and thorns and lose their fragility. They grow and grow and the cacodaemon just stands there, staring at her. So proud of himself for having hurt a Goddess. Persephone regrets ever meeting him.</p><p>But then she remembers his laugh. She remembers his smile. She remembers his reticence; all the dead flowers.</p><p>And she wishes she had the strength to regret meeting him.</p><p>But she finds herself weak. And the thought angers her endlessly.</p><p>The plants grow spikes and poisonous tips. They block her vision, they form an enclosure. They are going to engulf her, and she will let them. She will let herself be overcome, at least for now. Just until the humiliation has passed. Just until she can breathe again.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>She is overpowered by her emotions. She is foolish, she is young. Young enough to just <em> barely </em>be immortal, without being touched by all the marks of immortality. Like indifference—she possesses none of that. She looks like she could raze the entire field in her anger. She looks like she could cover the whole world in thorns. But they cover her instead. They cover her and engulf her and grow sharper and sharper.</p><p>Hades feels a small disturbance by his ear. The dead flower has come to life. It has pricked his skin and come back with ichor.</p><p>His eyes find the tangle of vegetation again. She is in the midst of it. She is humiliated and slighted. She is unused to being hated. Hades wonders whether he should just leave her. If he should just let her self-destruct. It would be one less headache.</p><p>But she is immortal, she wouldn’t die. She can’t. She would just be in pain. </p><p>Hades isn’t fond of watching undeserved suffering.</p><p>So he reaches out his hand and everything green turns cracked and brown, everything strong loses its will, life evaporates. In his path, he kills everything. He kills it all—from the thorns to the leaves, to the small flowers beneath his feet. And in the midst of all that death, she stands—the personification of everything Hades dislikes. She stands and glares at him, and Hades is horrified to find unshed tears in her eyes. How young <em> is </em>this child, to still be able to cry?</p><p>“I have offended you,” he says. He doesn’t know how to apologise. He never has before.</p><p>“You are impertinent and awful.” she tells him.</p><p>“I am aware. I have made you cry.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t waste a single tear on you,” she says, her eyelashes moist.</p><p>“Of course,” he grants her her lie.</p><p>“I wouldn’t marry you if you begged me.” she tells him. “I wouldn’t marry you for anything.”</p><p>He can’t help but smile.</p><p>“It amuses you, doesn’t it.” she says to him. “It amuses you that you’ve affected me.”</p><p><em> It does, </em>he doesn’t say.</p><p>“Well you haven’t.” she glares. “I don’t care about you at all.” and the liquid collecting in her eyes spills over.</p><p>“You shouldn’t,” Hades says. “You are a Goddess.”</p><p>He reaches out and catches her tears with the back of his finger. They are wet and somehow warm. Everything about her is so warm.</p><p>“I won’t marry you.” she says.</p><p>“Then you have fulfilled my wish,”</p><p>“I hate you,”</p><p>“You should.”</p><p>“I <em> do.” </em></p><p>“Good.” Hades says. “I hate you too.”</p><p>And her eyes fill with tears again. Hades is astonished.</p><p>“You are terribly sensitive for an Immortal,” he observes.</p><p>“You are awful.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“You are awful and impertinent.”</p><p>“As you have said before,”</p><p>“I could kill you,”</p><p>Hades is startled into laughter.</p><p>“Creatures have died for far less disrespect.” she continues.</p><p>He gazes at her, “I would gladly welcome death, you are free to try.”</p><p>She scowls at him. “You are in love with me.”</p><p>“How many times must I say that I’m not?”</p><p>“Until you’re not <em> lying.” </em>she hisses.</p><p>Hades shakes his head. She is crazy, truly.</p><p>“I will never accept your offer of marriage.” she says. “I will never marry you.”</p><p>He bows to her, “Then you have made me the happiest Immortal on this plane,”</p><p>She bristles in anger. “You do not affect me!”</p><p>“Good,” he walks away.</p><p>“I do not care about you!”</p><p>“Very good,” he boards his chariot.</p><p>“I hate you!” is the last thing he hears before he leaves the light and his skin finally stops burning.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The cacodaemon never returns again.</p><p>He never stares at her in silence inside his black chariot.</p><p>His lines never blur and fight against the mortal plane.</p><p>One day, if Persephone gets the chance, she’s going to tell him that the Realm of The Living is rejecting him. She wonders if he knows, if he came all those times regardless of that knowledge.</p><p>All things rejected by life find a home in The Underworld.</p><p>She wonders if that’s where he is right now.</p><p>She wonders if he is suffering in the darkness.</p><p>She wonders if he is suffering without her. But, of course, he doesn’t like her. He hates her. He must be overjoyed away from her.</p><p>Persephone is glad that The Underworld is awful. She is glad that even in joy he can’t be <em> too </em>pleased.</p><p>She wishes that he is upset. She wishes that he is angry. She wishes that he would lay ruin to everything he sees in his emotion.</p><p>Mostly, she wishes that she could see him smile, again. She wishes that she could hear his laugh, the real one. She wishes she could tuck another flower behind his ear and watch it sapped of vitality. She wishes he would just stand there, bad-tempered, and listen to her speak.</p><p>The nymphs listen to her speak, gladly. Mother listens to her speak, of course. But mostly they talk. They talk and talk and it’s always <em> Persephone this, </em> or <em> Persephone that, </em> or <em> Oh, Persephone! </em>Persephone is so utterly sick of them all.</p><p>She is so utterly bored. And in her mother’s lovely fields, under her father’s lovely sky, and Apollo’s brilliant shine, she thinks of that horrible, awful—<em> evil probably!— </em>cacodaemon, and she realises that she is probably lonely. It angers her so very endlessly. </p><p>She is a Goddess. She is Power, embodied. He embodies nothing but trivial evil. There isn't any value in a single strand of his black hair.</p><p>Nothing is ever that black in Mother’s fields. Nothing is ever onyx. Nothing is ever bad-tempered or reticent. Nothing carries such a gravitating allure that life itself is hypnotised and then consumed. Everything here is simply lovely. And Persephone has never hated it all more.</p><p>So she screams, for the first time. She is in a field of daffodils when it occurs, and the nymphs are singing. Their voices are soft and the breeze is warm. They all must look as if they’ve walked straight out of a painting. She knows she herself must look especially beautiful. So young, so golden. All of it suffocates her. This scene has played out a million times before, and as it plays out now she realises that it is going to play out a million times <em> more. </em>And she can’t take it. She can’t stand in this field of flowers looking beautiful for the rest of time. Her mother can’t own her for the rest of time. And it gets too much for her. So she takes in a breath and for the first time, she screams.</p><p>The sound tears through the scene and jars the harmony. The nymphs startle violently and dematerialise in their fear.</p><p>It feels good. It feels great. She has made everything awful. <em> Take that, Mother. </em></p><p>The breeze stops and the air stagnates.</p><p>“Persephone,” comes her mother’s voice.</p><p>Persephone turns around to face Demeter.</p><p>“What in Heaven’s name are you doing,”</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The darkness comforts Hades. It shrouds him.</p><p>He tries to tell it that he doesn’t need to be comforted. He is the King of The Underworld, he has no need for consolation.</p><p>It doesn’t listen, which is just as well because Hades was lying anyway.</p><p>The darkness is Hades’ favourite thing. It is quiet and unassuming. It is peaceful.</p><p>“Thank you,” Hades says.</p><p>It is enshrined by darkness that Hermes finds him.</p><p>“Having fun?” Hermes teases.</p><p>Hades has no patience for him on even the best of days. “State your purpose, Hermes.”</p><p>He lifts an arched brow. “Not having fun, then.”</p><p>Hades snaps his fingers and the darkness recedes.</p><p>“Ooh, scary.” he grins.</p><p>“What is the message.” Hades wishes very fervently that he could ban Hermes from The Underworld. Unfortunately, messengers are borderless and Hades doesn’t have the jurisdiction.</p><p>“Can’t I visit you for fun?”</p><p>“No.” says Hades. “Cerberus has been instructed to eat you if you enter with frivolous intentions.”</p><p>Hermes laughs. “I’m immortal.”</p><p>“The purpose isn’t to kill you.” Hades eyes him blandly. “It’s to give you a very uncomfortable tour of Cerberus’ bowels.”</p><p>Hermes coughs. Whether he does so in true discomfort is, as always, unknown.</p><p>“Why are you here.” Hades asks, impatiently.</p><p>“To extend an invitation on behalf of Zeus,”</p><p>“I respectfully decline,”</p><p>Hermes smiles again. He is endlessly impertinent. “Do you?”</p><p>“Don’t play games with me in my own realm.”</p><p>“I enjoy our conversations, Hades.”</p><p>“You enjoy that I’m not easily fooled.”</p><p>“Of course,” Hermes agrees. “I enjoy a challenge. You pose a challenge.” he pauses, in thought. “Well, most days.” In a heartbeat he moves closer. “I believe you will find it of interest to know that the invitation has been extended to <em> all </em>the Gods.” Hermes waggles his eyebrows and lowers his tone to conspiratorial. “Imagine the fighting.”</p><p>“Bothersome.” Hades says, with contempt.</p><p>“Amusing, you mean.” Hermes corrects flippantly. </p><p>Hermes, The God of Everything Irritating, is truly the most irritating thing Hades has ever known. He stands from his throne. “If you weren’t immortal,” he remarks, “I’d have killed you three times, already.”</p><p>Hermes, swift-footed as always, follows after him closely. “I’d say, ‘You’re welcome,’ but the credit goes to Zeus’ insatiable libido.”</p><p>Perhaps Hades should simply instruct Cerberus to eat Hermes on sight. He’ll deal with the consequences when they come.</p><p>“You’re disappointing me, Hades,” Hermes trills in response to Hades’ silence.</p><p>“Then leave.”</p><p>“You’ve neither accepted nor rejected the invitation,”</p><p>Hades stops his stride and sends Hermes a knowing look. “How do I know if ‘<em> all </em>the Gods’ will accept?”</p><p>Hermes grins. “Why wouldn’t they?”</p><p>Why wouldn’t they want to visit Mount Olympus? Why wouldn’t they want to be as close as possible to all that luxury? It seems a given. Of course, they both know, it is not.</p><p>“Don’t try my temper, Hermes.”</p><p>“I can’t know what you’re implying,” he hands Hades the letter of invitation.</p><p>“But you do.” Hades doesn’t take it.</p><p>“Of course I do. I have eyes everywhere.”</p><p>“And?” Hades probes.</p><p><em>“And,</em> ‘all the Gods’ will be present.” Hermes meets Hades’ eyes. “It shall be endlessly entertaining for me if you’re there with them.”</p><p>He barely needs to think. “I decline the invitation.” </p><p>Hermes side-steps him and blocks his escape. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“I decline the invitation, Hermes.”</p><p>Hermes nods and writes something down on the papyrus. It glows golden and disappears into itself. As it does so, a golden band appears on Hades’ wrist.</p><p>Hades narrows his eyes.</p><p>“I have accepted the invitation on your behalf.” Hermes smiles. “You are welcome.”</p><p>Hades takes a second to lament over Hermes’ immortality. Then, he touches Hermes on the shoulder and transports them both to Cerberus.</p><p>“Eat.” Hades commands.</p><p>“Well played, cousin.” Hermes manages to say before he is swallowed.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p><em> “Pink </em> flowers, Persephone.” Mother sighs. “I told you, they must be the <em> pink </em> ones.”</p><p>Persephone resists the urge to roll her eyes. “What does it matter what colour they are?”</p><p>“You’re the belle of the Gods, my little love. Of course it matters.”</p><p><em> “Aphrodite’s </em> the belle of the Gods.” Persephone refutes. “She’s <em> literally </em>The Belle of The Gods.”</p><p>Demeter humphs. “You are the most sought after, currently.”</p><p>Persephone purses her lips. “I don’t wish to be sought after.”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter what you wish. You are a child.”</p><p>Persephone grits her teeth.</p><p>“Change your flowers, Persephone. Don’t test my patience.”</p><p>Persephone decides to never change her flowers, if only out of spite. “I didn’t realise you wanted me to be sought, Mother.”</p><p>“I <em> don’t.” </em>Demeter says, sharply. “You are my child. You will remain with me, yet.”</p><p><em> I will remain with you forever, you mean, </em> Persephone doesn't say. <em> Why won’t you just admit it? </em></p><p>“Why the insistence with the pink flowers, then?” Persephone asks, instead.</p><p>“I revel in my child’s beauty.” Demeter caresses her hair. “I only want what’s best for you.”</p><p>“Is this what’s best for me, Mother? Pink flowers instead of yellow?”</p><p>“Of course. Yellow blends into your hair. It’s not at all discerning. Pink is the best.”</p><p>“But does it <em>really </em>matter?”</p><p><em> “Yes, </em>Persephone. Go change them.”</p><p>“Can’t you just let me decide for myself?” Persephone asks, almost pleadingly.</p><p>Demeter looks at her as if she’s absurd. “If you won’t change them yourself,” she trails a finger over the flowers in Persephone’s hair. “There.”</p><p>Persephone looks at the grassy floor. Her mother never <em> listens. </em> Or she does, but never <em> truly. </em>Never with genuine interest and attention.</p><p>“I’m not a child.” Persephone says.</p><p>Demeter laughs. “What a childish thing to say.”</p><p>Persephone wants to ask her how else she’s meant to get her to—<em> understand. </em></p><p>“I’m fully grown, Mother.” Persephone says. “I can make my own decisions.”</p><p>Demeter frowns at her. “Is this really the time to throw a fit? Right before we’re due at Olympus?”</p><p>And Persephone wants to set fire to the whole field for that comment.</p><p>“You’re not <em> listening—” </em></p><p>“Yes, yes, we can do this later, my love.” Demeter smooths down Persephone’s chiton. She steps back to view her handiwork. “Beautiful,”</p><p>Persephone has never heard a more empty compliment. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that she has <em> only </em> ever heard empty compliments.</p><p>She looks away.</p><p>“Don’t you sulk, Persephone.” Demeter castigates. “You’re not a child.”</p><p>“And your comments are as contradictory as your mood swings.” Persephone returns.</p><p><em> “Persephone.” </em>Demeter glares at her.</p><p>Persephone holds her tongue. Not yet. It’s not the time. Someday, though. Someday, soon.</p><p>They step forward, the scenery around them melting, and then onto the marble of Mount Olympus.</p><p>As soon as her mother’s attention is sufficiently occupied, Persephone runs a hand through her hair and changes the azaleas to black pansies.</p><p>Let her mother punish her as much as she wants when they get home.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The invitation is binding. Hades is transported to Mount Olympus in the middle of overseeing a particularly complicated judgement. He is still wearing his everyday chiton. It genuinely angers him to be taken away at such an important time. He tries to go back, but it seems the invitation hinders him. He closes his eyes and whispers a message into Rhadamanthus’ mind—<em> Ask her why she hesitated, the key lies in her thoughts, not her actions. </em> Despite the burn of his wrist, he doesn’t move until he hears the whisper of Rhadamanthus’ answer— <em> Understood, My Lord. </em></p><p>Hades can feel ichor dripping down his wrist. He wonders whether this addition to the invitation was Zeus’ idea or Hermes’. Or perhaps it was Hera’s—it carries her particular brand of brutality.</p><p>If he’s honest, he doesn’t truly care whose idea it was. He hates all of them equally, regardless.</p><p>Well, that’s not really true at all.</p><p>He hates Zeus <em> significantly </em> more than anyone else. Hera is a close second. And then Aphrodite. And Ares. Oh, and <em> Demeter. </em></p><p>He supposes he views the rest with a rather clinical disdain.</p><p>Although, he admits, he <em> does </em> sport an odd fondness for a few. An eternity of acquaintance does that.</p><p>Hestia, for example. Out of all of them, she is his favourite.</p><p>“It’s warm,” he greets, as he walks up to her. “Pleasantly so.”</p><p>“I keep asking you to invite me to The Underworld,” Hestia shakes her head. “It could be warm there, too.”</p><p>“I like the coldness.”</p><p>“You like the <em> darkness.” </em>Hestia corrects. “Do not presume them to be the same thing. I know you’re not ignorant, Hades.”</p><p>“Only evil,” Hades smiles. “And apparently heavily bearded, as well.”</p><p>Hestia smiles back at him. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m middle-aged.”</p><p>“Yes, I’ve heard.”</p><p>“Apparently, I’m also perpetually veiled.”</p><p>“How modest of you,” Hades compliments.</p><p>“Isn’t it?” she asks. “I can’t ask for a kinder assumption.”</p><p>Hades warms his hands by the hearth. The wound made by the golden band is nearly healed, already. “I can ask for kinder.”</p><p>Hestia blows on the hearth and the embers grow warmer. “The mortals are foolish in their fear.”</p><p>“They are,” Hades agrees. “Also exorbitant. Why a beard?”</p><p>“You know I don’t follow politics,” Hestia says. “I haven’t a clue the reasons behind their fancies.”</p><p>“It’s so strange to me,” Hades rubs his hands together. “Beards are so itchy.”</p><p>“Maybe they’re popular with women,” she says, “Or others,”</p><p>“I don’t like beards.” Hades looks at her skeptically. “Do <em> you </em>like beards?”</p><p>Hestia shrugs. “I don’t mind them.”</p><p>“You don’t mind anything.”</p><p>“Now, that’s not true at all. I very much mind never being invited to your home.”</p><p>Hades sighs. “You know it’s no place for a hearth.”</p><p><em> “Everywhere </em>is a place for a hearth, Hades.” she says. “Wherever there is consciousness, there is place for a hearth. Perhaps not a physical one, but certainly a metaphorical one, always.”</p><p><em> This again. </em>“Well, you can come over as soon as we’re allowed to leave and build a nice hearth in the pits of Tartarus. I have just the spot, in the middle of all the eternal suffering. I’m sure the depraved souls will appreciate it, you know, in the middle of all their eternal suffering.”</p><p>Hestia laughs. “It’s nice to see that time hasn’t weaned your sarcasm.”</p><p>“I haven’t a clue what you’re implying. Build me a hearth in Tartarus.”</p><p>“The Underworld isn’t composed of only Tartarus.” she rolls her eyes in good humour. “Don’t tease me. We’re both far too old.”</p><p>“True.” Hades agrees. “You’re middle-aged and I’m bearded.”</p><p>“The Mortals will never cease to amaze me.”</p><p>“Me neither.” Hades recalls the statue he saw eight years ago. “A beard, imagine.”</p><p>Hestia laughs, shaking her head.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Persephone dislikes everyone here. She thinks she may just dislike crowds, in general. She scans this particular crowd with irritation she has no doubt is very poorly concealed. On second thought, it may genuinely just be this crowd in particular.</p><p>They’re all so self-important.</p><p>Does it make it justified because they’re Gods?</p><p>Perhaps it does. Perhaps power and immortality grant one the right to arrogance. Though this makes the fact no less insufferable in Persephone’s eyes.</p><p>She decides to spend the rest of her time being doleful in the corner. Maybe if she’s doleful enough, Hephaestus will take pity on her and leave his horrible wife. She isn’t sure whether she wants to proceed with her plans to seduce him, but if anything, he is always pleasant company.</p><p>Perhaps Athena will be the one to take pity on her. Persephone’s hopes are brutally squashed when she glances at Athena—who is, as always, surrounded by a crowd. It must be difficult being such a popular God. </p><p>Maybe Artemis? Persephone looks around for Artemis. She finds her next to Apollo. <em> She won’t leave her brother, </em>Persephone thinks, an air of desolation condensing around her.</p><p>She reconciles herself to spending her time alone—being doleful; in the corner. If she gets sufficiently bored she’ll spice things up and be doleful in the middle of the room.</p><p>“You’re ruining your beauty,” says Aphrodite.</p><p>Persephone pretends she hasn’t heard her.</p><p>“Sorrow isn’t pretty on you.” Aphrodite continues, “People see you and expect smiles.”</p><p>“This may come as a surprise, Aphrodite,” Persephone turns to her, “But I don’t care.”</p><p>“You should,” Aphrodite says. “Beauty is your only virtue.”</p><p>Persephone wonders how much trouble she would get in if she stepped on Aphrodite’s sandals. Probably a lot. Most definitely, a lot. She ponders over whether it’s worth it.</p><p>“Though it isn’t a very impressive virtue,” Aphrodite smiles, her teeth perfectly white, her lips ruby red.</p><p>Persephone decides that ‘most definitely, a lot’ of trouble is definitely worth it if she gets to see Aphrodite personally slighted.</p><p>Though perhaps she’ll save that for another day.</p><p>“Funny,” Persephone smiles back. “I could say the exact same of you.”</p><p>Aphrodite moves a lock of shining hair away from her face. “We can never be compared. I am an Olympian, you are basically a nymph.”</p><p>“Thank you, Oh Great Olympian, for going out of your way to speak to this nymph.”</p><p>“Even our beauty cannot be compared,” Aphrodite continues.</p><p>Persephone sighs. Aphrodite <em> always </em> does this. She starts talking and <em> never </em>stops.</p><p>“I was born of sea foam, you were born of rape. The very nature of our births is defining.”</p><p>Persephone steps hard on Aphrodite’s sandals. Aphrodite shrieks. Persephone knows instantly that she is in mountains of trouble.</p><p>She doesn’t care. She’d do it all over again and worse.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Hades would never have left Hestia’s side if she hadn’t insisted. Honestly, he wouldn’t have left even then if he didn’t feel just a little bit guilty. They’d met last over a century ago. The nature of their beings has hardly anything in common, and it is difficult to find time.</p><p>She had said, <em> “Go, Hades. Don’t isolate yourself.” </em></p><p><em> “I’m not.” </em>he had returned.</p><p>She had met his gaze, <em> “Then, go.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Come with me,” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’ll be here, minding the hearth.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hypocritical of you, don’t you think?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Not at all. Now, go.” </em>
</p><p>So Hades had gone. </p><p>He stands now in the midst of the most blithering buffoons in existence. He regrets leaving her side. He’s unbelievably weak in the face of guilt.</p><p>“I’ll ask for her hand in marriage,” proclaims Dionysus. He is, as expected, inebriated.</p><p>“Demeter will never agree,” Iris says. “She’ll quite possibly kill you.”</p><p>“Nothing can kill me,” Dionysus slurs. “I’m <em> immortal.” </em></p><p><em> Unfortunately, </em>thinks Hades.</p><p>“Why don’t you try, then.” Iris says. “Go on, entertain us all.”</p><p>Dionysus takes two steps forward and then stops. “I don’t have to ask for her hand. Don’t try to <em> fool </em>me, Iris. I can just take her and make her mine.”</p><p>“Do it. We will all enjoy watching your demise.”</p><p>Hades eyes Dionysus in contempt. He knows, of course, whose hand they are referring to.</p><p>Whose hand, so completely warm, they all are talking about.</p><p><em> Persephone, </em>he thinks. He doesn’t say it out-loud. He has never said it out-loud. Before now, he has never even thought it. He has never allowed himself.</p><p>He thinks about her far more than he’d like to, already. He hates her, after all. Or so he’s always told himself. The alternative is too strange a concept to dwell on.</p><p>“I’ll ask Zeus!” Dionysus exclaims. “Then she’ll be mine, and nothing can stop me.”</p><p>It horrifies Hades when he realises that Zeus will most probably say yes.</p><p>(Why? Why does it scare him so? Is it because she is young? Is it because she doesn’t deserve it?)</p><p>“Watch yourself, Dionysus.” Hades says. He keeps his voice soft and bland.</p><p>“Hades,” Dionysus starts. “When did you—<em> why? </em>Did one of us die?”</p><p>“Yes,” Iris mocks. “You did. Have you not realised, yet?”</p><p>Dionysus pales.</p><p>Hades turns away. Stupidity, he can tolerate. Fear, on the other hand, is more difficult.</p><p>And anyway, right now he feels an inexplicable and pressing need to find Zeus.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Persephone catches a glimpse of him weaving through the crowd and her heart stutters in her chest.</p><p><em> Cacodaemon, </em> she thinks, <em> Where have you been? </em></p><p>
  <em> Why did you leave me, why do you hate me? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will you truly never come back? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Have you lost interest in me? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hate me, hate me all you want if it keeps you interested. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Or just leave me alone. Take off the trance you’ve put on me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You love me, don’t you? </em>
</p><p>It takes a while before it occurs to her to wonder why he’s here. <em> How </em> he’s here. Chthonic deities are not welcome on Mount Olympus.</p><p>She recalls, faintly, that he has never confirmed his cacodaemon status.</p><p><em> What are you, </em> she thinks. She doesn’t realise she is following him until she’s taken at least four steps. Perhaps more. By then, it is too late to stop, and anyway, Persephone doesn’t want to. <em> What are you? </em></p><p>She knows, now. It’d be impossible not to know, by now. </p><p><em> A God, </em>she thinks.</p><p>Of what? She follows his figure with her eyes.</p><p>He wears robes far more humble than anyone else. No ornamentation. No shine to his skin.</p><p>His lines aren’t blurred on Mount Olympus. The Realm of The Gods isn’t rejecting him.</p><p>His skin is grey.</p><p>His hair is black.</p><p>He is tall. Significantly so.</p><p>He walks quietly, making no sound.</p><p>
  <em> I want to see your face. Your face without the blur. </em>
</p><p>As if fulfilling her wishes, he turns his face to the side.</p><p>His expression is solemn.</p><p>His eyelashes are long.</p><p>
  <em> Turn to me. See me. </em>
</p><p><em> “Persephone,” </em>hisses her mother.</p><p>Persephone is pulled by the arm. She doesn’t turn her face away from him. She is frightened that if she does so, he will disappear again.</p><p>“Persephone.” her mother repeats.</p><p>“I won’t apologise to Aphrodite.” Persephone says.</p><p>The cacodaemon is moving further away.</p><p>“Aphrodite?” her mother asks. <em> “Persephone!” </em>she takes hold of Persephone’s arms and deposits herself in between Persephone and her line of sight.</p><p>“Mother, move—”</p><p>“What are you doing, you foolish child?” her mother hisses.</p><p>“Nothing, I—”</p><p>“Don’t try to fool me, Persephone. It is clear to everyone watching who you are following.”</p><p>Persephone stares at her mother. “Who?”</p><p>“Don’t get smart with me.”</p><p>“No, Mother, I—I don’t know who he is,”</p><p>“Good.” her mother begins to pull her away. “We’re going home. This was a mistake.”</p><p><em> No, </em> Persephone thinks. <em> Not like this, not right now. </em></p><p>“Who is he?” Persephone demands. “I won’t leave unless you tell me.”</p><p>“You’re presumptuous if you think I ever have to ask for your permission to take you home.”</p><p>Persephone digs her feet into the marble floor.</p><p>“What have you done to your <em> flowers?” </em> her mother notices.</p><p><em> They’re black, </em> thinks Persephone, <em> like his eyes, like his hair. Though not as dark, nothing is as dark. </em></p><p>“Who is he.” Persephone repeats.</p><p>“Don’t embarrass me.” her mother says to her.</p><p>“I will.” Persephone promises, “If you don’t tell me who he is, I will embarrass you a hundred times.”</p><p><em> “Persephone,” </em>her mother pulls her again. Persephone gives no ground.</p><p>“Who is he.”</p><p>
  <em> “Do not play this game with your own mother.” </em>
</p><p>Persephone squares her jaw. “Who is he.”</p><p>The Gods around them have begun eyeing them. They are becoming a spectacle.</p><p>Persephone couldn’t care less. “Tell me.” she says.</p><p>Her mother couldn’t care more. Her eyes flick around to the crowd. <em> “Persephone.” </em></p><p>“I will leave with you silently the very moment you utter his name.”</p><p><em> “Hades,” </em> her mother whispers, furiously. <em> “Happy, now?” </em></p><p><em> Hades, </em>thinks Persephone.</p><p>Her mother pulls her arm, again. Persephone lets herself be pulled. In a step they are back in their fields. The white marble, the extravagance, it’s all left behind.</p><p><em> Hades, </em>thinks Persephone.</p><p>“What have you <em> done?!” </em>her mother shrieks at her.</p><p>The reticence was still there. If anything, it was more pronounced.</p><p>“How could you do that to me?!” her mother demands.</p><p>The white marble was left behind, but Persephone carried with her his black eyes. If only they had met hers. If only she could have held his gaze.</p><p>“How could you do that to <em> yourself?!” </em>her mother tears at her own hair.</p><p><em> Hades, </em> thinks Persephone, <em> The King of The Underworld. </em></p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“Hades,” says Zeus. “This is a surprise.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t imagine so,” returns Hades, “Seeing as how you made the invitation binding.”</p><p>“The surprise lies in the fact that you accepted it.”</p><p>Hades doesn’t have time for this conversation. “Your daughter.”</p><p>Zeus eyes him with interest. “Athena?”</p><p>“No—”</p><p>“Artemis?”</p><p>
  <em> “Persephone.” </em>
</p><p>“Oh.” says Zeus, blandly. “Her. Demeter’s.”</p><p>This is why Hades hates Zeus. Because he’s quite possibly the most horrible thing in existence.</p><p>“She is being pursued.” Hades continues.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“It is not by respectable means.”</p><p>Zeus takes a sip of his nectar. “And?”</p><p>Hades stares at him. And he realises that nothing he says will ever get through to Zeus. Zeus simply doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything other than himself. The reminder fills Hades with despair. </p><p>She’s going to be forcefully taken. She’s going to be forcefully taken and all the Gods will watch her wail in despair. No-one will help her. It is custom, after all, for a girl to be unwillingly wed to a man. </p><p>Regardless of her appearance, she’s just a child.</p><p>She’s just a <em> child. </em></p><p>And Hades won’t be able to protect her. He can’t. He doesn’t have the… <em> power…  </em></p><p>“I’m asking for her hand in marriage.” he says.</p><p>Zeus stares at him. “Persephone, you say?”</p><p>“I’m asking for her hand in marriage.” Hades repeats. “Give it to me.” </p><p>“Is she so lovely,” Zeus asks, genuinely curious, “that she has seduced even you?”</p><p>
  <em> She has seduced no one. They have all fallen on their own accord. </em>
</p><p>“Does it matter.”</p><p>“No,” Zeus admits. “Though it does make me curious…”</p><p>Hades eyes him in disgust. “Give her hand to me. I’m asking for it.”</p><p>“Fine.” he acquiesces. “Take it.”</p><p>
  <em> Like an object he has given her away. She is not even here to know her fate. </em>
</p><p>“You are disgusting.” Hades tells him. “Utterly.”</p><p>And then he turns half a step and is back in The Underworld.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p><em> Hades, </em> thinks Persephone. <em> Now, I know your name. Won’t you return? </em></p><p>But he doesn’t.</p><p>She spends a year in punishment amidst the flowers and nymphs.</p><p>He doesn’t return.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ~~~ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Hades isn’t going to marry her. He has no such intention.</p><p>He only asked for her hand in order to stop the others from forcing it away.</p><p>And for a while, it is enough.</p><p>He is powerful, despite everything. They all know it. It’s why most of them fear him. Nearly all of them fear him, disregarding notable exceptions.</p><p>The King of The Underworld has asked for someone for the first time. Nobody else stands a chance.</p><p>Though it doesn’t stop them from trying once they notice he hasn’t made a single move to woo her. Or forcefully take her.</p><p>As such, he is compelled to plant a trap—a guise of a snare. Something obvious, so that they all know that he is <em> trying </em> and if they so much as <em> try, too, </em>they are declaring direct war. They stop trying, too.</p><p>And Hades can breathe again. She is safe.</p><p>What he forgets, in a moment of blind relief, is Tyche’s capriciousness. He forgets that although his snare is well hidden it is also <em> obvious. </em> It is <em>alluring—</em>not only to the spectators, but also the prey in question. It slips his mind that young Immortals are usually curious, and this particular one especially so.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>It is the most beautiful daffodil that Persephone has ever seen. </p><p>She doesn’t like it. It is superficial. It reminds her of her life.</p><p>But it really is beautiful. A colour unlike the rest. Brighter.</p><p>The bees seem to think so, too. They gravitate towards it.</p><p>All Persephone can think about is what it would look like dead. Would the colour be preserved?</p><p>She wonders if it would still look so cheerful tucked behind the ear of a God determined to be miserable. She wonders if the irony would amuse him—<em> Hades, </em> she reminds herself, <em> His name is Hades </em> . Perhaps, he would even laugh. She thinks the scene— <em> The King of The Underworld, laughing— </em> would not be nearly as incongruous as expected <em> . </em>If he were laughing, Persephone thinks the flower would suit him perfectly. Actually, no. Even then, they’d be ill-suited—though not incongruous, exactly. His laugh would simply put the flower to shame—it would wither into itself from the humiliation. </p><p>She kneels on the grass in front of the flower. She touches its petals. When this flower dies, another will take its place—as is the nature of all superficial pleasure. All of it is a superficial pleasure.</p><p>She plucks the flower from the ground and spins the stalk in her hand.</p><p>And the earth under her trembles. It cracks, it shakes. It splits open and Persephone falls inside.</p><p>Distancing screams of distress enter her ears. It is no doubt the nymphs are beyond themselves in panic. All Persephone can think about is how very cliche she must look—a beautiful girl, with a beautiful flower in her hands, in mortal terror. Or, at the very least, an event meant to induce mortal terror.</p><p>She doesn’t scream. Partly, it is due to sheer shock. The other part of her is simply rational enough to understand that wherever she is going will be better than where she was. She lets herself fall in grace, clutching the flower to her chest—it seems the key to all of this. And she reminds herself, <em> I am immortal, I cannot die. </em>She is inexperienced enough to think of this as solace rather than calamity.</p><p>So, she falls. The wind rushes around her and whips against her cotton chiton.</p><p>She curls into herself, holding the flower against her bosom.</p><p>She falls, she falls, she falls.</p><p>Right into someone’s arms.</p><p>When she opens her eyes, she sees onyx.</p><p>And her gut reaction is to tuck the flower in her hands behind The King of The Underworld’s ear.</p><p>It shrivels. The colour fades.</p><p>It is superficial, after all.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>At first, Hades believes it must be a stalactite. He realises, almost instantaneously, that it <em> can’t </em>be a stalactite. There are no stalactites on the ceiling of his palace.</p><p>And the realisation hits him like a spear. He stares at the falling mass. He stares at the girl.</p><p>Her eyes are shut, she is falling. She is falling, and she is getting closer. She is immortal, and she will ache for <em> decades. </em></p><p>And he doesn’t think, he simply drops the scroll in his hands and moves. He catches her in his arms.</p><p>And then he stares down at her in utter astonishment.</p><p>It takes her a second to realise she’s been caught. She opens her tightened lids. She looks up at him. Below golden lashes lay azure eyes. They almost burn Hades to look at.</p><p>Wordlessly, she tucks something behind his ear. The familiarity of the movement is—strange. It must be a flower. He realises that it is probably <em> the </em>flower. The guise.</p><p>The astonishment renews itself. He has difficulty believing what has just occured—that he has accidentally abducted her.</p><p>“It is you,” she whispers.</p><p>“There has been a mistake.” he tells her. “You should not be here.”</p><p>“What has occurred?” she asks him.</p><p>“It appears,” he takes a moment to collect himself, “It appears I have successfully abducted you.”</p><p>She stares at him. Hades wishes she would stop looking straight into his eyes.</p><p>“There was a slight miscalculation on my part,” he tells her. He hasn’t felt this embarrassed in over two centuries. “I wasn’t meant to succeed.”</p><p>She’s observing him. She’s still in his arms.</p><p>“If you will give me a few hours, I will rectify my mistake.”</p><p>She doesn’t say anything for a beat. Hades gives her her silence. He wonders if he should let her down from his arms or if the sudden movement will frighten her.</p><p>“See,” she says, beginning to smile. “I told you. You <em> do </em>love me.”</p><p>Hades lets her down. Let her be frightened, it will scare her impertinence away.</p><p>“I’ll find you a place to rest while I make the necessary arrangements.” he says, coldly.</p><p>She shakes her head, still smiling. She moves a step closer to him. Hades suppresses the urge to move a step backwards. Where does she get all this courage from?</p><p>“You love me, admit it.”</p><p>“You’ve taken a rather optimistic interpretation to what I’ve clearly said was a mistake.”</p><p>“A mistake in succeeding to abduct me.” she returns. “You have a mole under your lip.”</p><p>Hades calls upon his power. He calls upon his Kingdom to give him his Majesty. It has frightened the most daring heroes, this child doesn’t stand a chance.</p><p>“You look very handsome today,” she says to him.</p><p>Who <em> is </em>this child? Which one of his internal hells has she emerged from?</p><p>“Remain where you are.” he commands her. “Don’t eat or touch anything while I prepare for your journey back.”</p><p>She moves a step closer to him. They are almost chest to chest. Or head to chest. Hades forces himself to not move backwards. What is she <em> doing? </em>How is she doing this? How is she not frightened by the proximity?</p><p>He recalls that she thinks he is a cacodaemon.</p><p>“I am—”</p><p>“—the King of The Underworld,” she finishes, glancing at his wreath. “I am well aware, Hades.”</p><p>Who is she? Why is she here? Why has she not <em> stepped backwards, already? </em></p><p>“Then you realise your impertinence.” he says.</p><p>“Well, you love me, don’t you?” she responds. “It’s not impertinence if I own your heart.”</p><p>“I do not love you.” he says. “How many times must I say this—”</p><p>“Until it is the truth.” she smiles up at him. “Until you are not lying.”</p><p>“I am <em> not </em>lying.” he calls upon his powers once again. He glares down at her. “It would be wise to behave yourself while you are in my palace.”</p><p>She looks up at him impishly from below her lashes. Hades feels a sense of foreboding.</p><p>It is while they are standing like this—close enough to embrace—that he hears a voice. He is a second too late in recognising it. Her proximity is baffling.</p><p>“If I didn’t know better, Hades, I’d say you commanded Cerberus to eat me on sight—oh?” Hermes stops when he sees them.</p><p>Hades realises that this scene—with all its dubious interpretations—is highly incriminating, for him, particularly. He is just opening his mouth to explain when Hermes grins.</p><p>He eyes Persephone. “You actually did it. You took her for your own.”</p><p>“Why are you so surprised?” Persephone asks him.</p><p>“Why aren’t you more?” Hermes returns. He develops a very worrying sparkle in his eyes. “Has the wedding night—”</p><p>Hades snaps his fingers and Hermes is expelled from The Underworld.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>He steps away from her. Persephone wishes he wouldn’t.</p><p>She has never seen him more clearly. His mannerisms have never been so discernible. Like the downwards tilt to his mouth whenever he is displeased. Which he is, currently. </p><p>But he loves her, Persephone is nearly certain of it now.</p><p><em> Why won’t you admit it? </em>she wants to ask.</p><p>His frown deepens when he glances at the space where Hermes once was.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” she asks him.</p><p>“Following recent developments, it will take longer than a few hours to make the necessary arrangements.”</p><p><em> Ah. </em>“You don’t have to make any arrangements.” she tells him. “If you ask for my hand, I will give it to you.”</p><p>His eyebrows twitch, almost imperceptibly.</p><p>“What is it?” she asks.</p><p>He looks back at her, an apology in his eyes. “I own your hand, already.”</p><p>She almost blushes at the words. “That’s surprisingly forward of you,”</p><p>“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I own your hand. Your father gave it to me.”</p><p>And she thinks, <em> Of course.  </em></p><p>She thinks, <em> Of course my hand was given without my permission. </em></p><p>She thinks, <em> Why did I expect otherwise? </em></p><p>And Hades says, “I’ll give it back to you.”</p><p>She looks at him, a bit sour from the information, “Is my hand not good enough for the great Lord Hades?”</p><p>“I don’t want it.”</p><p>“So, it’s not good enough.” she says. “I’m not good enough for you.”</p><p>“No,” he says. “I simply do not want you.”</p><p>Persephone does not ask for the distinction in his words. She does not care what it is.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The world of the Gods is thrown into chaos.</p><p>Not primordial Chaos—with all the darkness and moving energy—but a God-made chaos. A political chaos. It is draining.</p><p>Olympus is in havoc. The Mortal Realm is in havoc. Even The Underworld, with the sudden influx of souls, is in havoc.</p><p>And the cause of it all is sitting under a tree just outside the Asphodel Meadows, watching The Furies play in the air.</p><p>Hades watches her as she watches them. Weeks without the sun have taken the gold out of her hair. It is bronze now. </p><p>Hades has always preferred bronze to gold. He doesn’t say so. He can’t, currently, say so. She is angry at him.</p><p>Rightfully so, probably.</p><p>He walks towards her. He stops when he is a few metres away and turns to The Furies. They are vicious in their play and ichor is raining beneath them.</p><p>“Your mother misses you,” he says.</p><p>Persephone doesn’t reply.</p><p>“She is neglecting the earth. The mortals starve.”</p><p>“Let them.” she says.</p><p>Cruelty is a mark of youth as much as it is a mark of immortality. Kindness is only observed in those at the lips of death.</p><p>“She misses you.” he repeats.</p><p>“Let her.”</p><p>He looks at her, then. She is miserable. There is a furrow between her eyebrows.</p><p>“It seems to me that you miss her, too.”</p><p>She looks furiously back at Hades. Those eyes, which used to carry so much mirth, are filled with anger. “I’m glad to be away from people who think they can live my life for me.”</p><p>He looks back at The Furies. He lets her seethe at his profile.</p><p>“Do you know the circumstances of your birth?” he asks her, still looking at the Furies.</p><p>She scowls and turns away. Hades takes that as an affirmative.</p><p>“Demeter was ruined.” he tells her. “She was humiliated and abused. Zeus didn’t show her even a touch of sympathy after the act. He simply moved on, as he always does.” He observes Persephone from the corner of his vision. “But, try as she did, Demeter couldn’t. Do you know why?”</p><p>“Because of me.” she says. “I ruined her.”</p><p>“No, not because of you.” Hades says. “Because of herself. Because when she noticed you, she couldn’t find it within herself to dispel you.” Persephone stops looking at The Furies. She looks down at her own hands. “She couldn’t do it because she fell in love with you. Amidst all the scorn and hostility, she fell in love, and it was with you.”</p><p>“She fell in love with the concept of a daughter.” Persephone says.</p><p>“Perhaps,” Hades agrees. “Perhaps she believed that you would never hate her. That you would always be wholly hers. That was her mistake.”</p><p>Persephone is crying, Hades thinks.</p><p>“Gods are not infallible,” he says, gently. He doesn’t look towards Persephone as he says it. He never gives any semblance that he knows how his words are affecting her. “In their souls, they are simply mortals who cannot die.”</p><p>They remain in silence for a while. The wind rustles the grass in the Asphodel Meadows. The mortal souls walk past each other in silence, as indifferent in death as they were in life.</p><p>“I do not like Demeter.” Hades says. “She is arrogant. She believes that she is always right, even though she is usually wrong. It never occurs to her to be embarrassed, or to doubt herself, as we all must do.” He looks upwards. The sky in The Underworld is grey and cloudless. “But if I have ever respected her, if there is even one thing about her that I don’t completely despise, it is the way that she loves you.”</p><p>Persephone’s shoulders are shaking.</p><p>“She is not a good mother, I don’t think.” Hades continues. “She is immature and controlling. She is probably dismissive, as well.” The Furies in the air descend. They are done playing, they begin to lick each other's wounds. “But she loves you more than she has ever loved anything. And she is tearing the world apart looking for you.”</p><p>A sob breaks from Persephone’s mouth.</p><p>Hades still does not look at her. </p><p>“Go home, Persephone.” he says, softly.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Her anger melts, and she lets it.</p><p>As she looks at his solitary back—not nearly as proud as a God’s should be—she feels her anger melting, and she lets it. She welcomes it, after a while.</p><p>She welcomes the confusing warmth when he comes near. When he stops her from eating the Food of the Dead. When he tells her to go home.</p><p>He only does so once a day. Never more, never less.</p><p>And he never forces her. He never expels her at a snap of his fingers like he does Hermes. Like she knows that he <em> can, </em> if he so wishes, is <em> she </em>so wishes.</p><p>He never forces her, even though by now her mother knows where she is. Even though her mother has torn the world apart, and is coming for The Underworld next. Even though younger, more innocent souls appear every day. Even though he is swamped with work. Even though they both know she is being selfish.</p><p>She is being selfish. She blames her youth. She blames the way he looks at his subjects, as if they are worth listening to. She blames her desire for youthful indiscretion. And she blames him, for she knows that he has probably never been one for youthful indiscretion, even in his youth.</p><p>He is far too sensible. He is far too withdrawn.</p><p>He sits on his throne and rules The Underworld. He is the kindest, most just ruler she has ever known.</p><p>And he doesn’t belong to her. She doesn’t belong to him.</p><p>The thought should be comforting. Persephone has never wished to belong to anyone. She has never wished for anyone to belong to her. She has always wished for freedom.</p><p>But she looks at him—at his quiet expressions, the mole under his grey lips. She watches him and he catches her. She smiles when he ignores her. She smiles when he <em> doesn’t </em>ignore her. She smiles when she makes him angry, and when she makes him laugh. Whenever he is near, regardless of her mood, she finds her lips turning up at the corners.</p><p>She even forces herself to think of her mother. She misses her mother, she does. She knows that she is being horrible, that she is being selfish and cruel for doing this. For hiding away, for only contacting her mother through Hermes. </p><p>She knows this and she thinks about how she is the most selfish being in existence.</p><p>Because she knows all of it. She knows all the suffering. She’s seen it with her very eyes.</p><p>And yet still, she looks at him and she thinks, <em> Just a little more. </em></p><p>She thinks, <em> A little more time, that’s all. </em></p><p>She thinks, <em> Tomorrow, tomorrow I will return. </em></p><p>But tomorrow comes, and passes, and she does not.</p><p>She watches him as he reads a letter. She watches him and she wishes that he were hers.</p><p>And she wonders why he won’t just admit that he loves her.</p><p>And as she continues to watch him, she finally admits to herself why it irritates her so much.</p><p>Because she has fallen in love with him.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Demeter is furious. There is no-one on her side but Hecate, and still she has laid such complete ruin on the mortal plane that all of Olympus is horrified.</p><p>None of them realised how much power she holds. Hades thinks that she never realised it herself.</p><p>But now she knows, and she is breaking the world.</p><p>The souls become agitated. They fear for their kin, they fear for the world that was once theirs. They are inconsolable.</p><p>And Hades should force Persephone back. He should expel her. He should call Demeter to his palace and demand that she take her home.</p><p>But he doesn’t. And the world falls into ruins.</p><p>The souls cry, <em> Lord Hades, please. </em></p><p>And he wishes he had the strength to console them. He wishes he had the strength to be a good ruler.</p><p>But she stops him in his path and holds out a flower. And as he passes her—touching the flower and sapping it of life, barely even sparing her a glance—he thinks of how much he will miss her presence when she is gone. When she leaves him with a vacancy.</p><p>And he thinks that she is unbearably sneaky. To have broken into his heart and burrowed a place for herself. When did that happen? When did he let that happen?</p><p>Her hair is bronze, her eyes are blue, her smile is startling and utterly captivating. She carries all the colours of the world.</p><p>And he knows that she must leave.</p><p>When he catches himself looking at her.</p><p>When he glances at her lips and thinks, <em> Even if they were coated with poison, I would gladly brush them with mine. </em></p><p>When he simply thinks of her and laughs.</p><p>When he—knows that he is in trouble.</p><p>He knows that she must leave.</p><p>Even then, it is only when he wakes and notices that her lines are beginning to look blurred—that she is being rejected by the Realm of The Dead—that he takes action.</p><p>He spends the morning listening to the suffering innocents. He walks into his palace, hoping that the bruises in his heart will grant him strength. And then he sees her and he understands, personally and for the first time, what it means for pain to be endless. </p><p>The world is ruined, he is ruined.</p><p>She is ruined.</p><p>And he asks her to leave.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Persephone says, even though she <em> knows </em>she must agree.</p><p>“You are overstaying your welcome.”</p><p>“You are lying.” Persephone retaliates. “You are lying to me.”</p><p>He meets her eyes, but he is looking through them. “Leave, Persephone.”</p><p><em> No, </em> she thinks, <em> not so soon. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I promise. </em></p><p>But tomorrow has never come, and it never will.</p><p>“There must be a way to—talk to her,” Persephone says. “I will talk to her. I will make her understand.”</p><p>“Leave.” he repeats.</p><p>And she knows that he can make her. It would take a snap of his fingers. It would take a simple thought. But he doesn’t, he never does, and she falls in love with him all over again because of it.</p><p>“I love you.” she says, her voice shaking. “I have fallen in love with you.”</p><p>He looks away.</p><p>“I love you, and you gave me back my hand,” she swallows. “I am asking for yours.”</p><p>“I refuse.” he says.</p><p>“Then I am giving you mine.”</p><p>“I don’t want it.”</p><p>She begins to cry. They are tears of frustration—that the universe can’t grant them this. That she must choose between him and everything else. That <em> he </em>must choose between her and the rest of it all.</p><p>“Let me stay,” she pleads.</p><p>“You cannot.” he says. </p><p>He looks pained. The shadows under his eyes have never been more pronounced. And it breaks Persephone’s heart. She cries for him. She cries that he has to do this. That he can’t ever have her.</p><p>“I love you,” she says. It sounds like a portent. She is sorry for it. “I love you, Hades,” she says, again. She means it to be softer, she means it to carry all the feeling in her chest, and it hurts her endlessly that it does not. That she cannot ever convey to him all that she has ever felt for him. All that he has made her feel; all that he is, to her.</p><p>He is looking away completely. On his solitary throne, in his grand court, he looks so utterly alone.</p><p>“Leave.” he whispers.</p><p>He is in pain. He is in pain and Persephone can’t do anything about it. Tears enter her lips. They are salty. She knows, then, that everything salty is forever ruined. Salt will always remind her of this moment—when both their hearts were tied. When both their hearts were so closely tied that they beat as one. When both their hearts were so delicately tied to each other that they were breaking.</p><p>“Send me away,” she says.</p><p>And he looks at her, he meets her gaze, and in those eyes she sees the same pain in her chest. And she wishes for anything else, she wishes the whole cosmos would just burn and let them live. And then he snaps his fingers.</p><p>And she is under Apollo’s sun, again.</p><p>Wailing like the pain will consume her on the spot.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>She is gone and Hades is alone.</p><p>She is gone and Hades is as he was before.</p><p>There are no dead flowers behind his ears, there is no ghosting smile on his lips.</p><p>He is as he was before.</p><p>Just irrevocably broken.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The barren wasteland comes to life as soon as Demeter sees her. It comes to life and then more when they embrace. Demeter cries, Persephone is already crying.</p><p>They cling to each other desperately. </p><p>Demeter strokes her hair. She whispers, “My child, my child,”</p><p>And Persephone loses her strength.</p><p>They continue to sob, in relief that they are together. Or at least partly for this reason.</p><p>Eventually, Demeter stops crying and smiles.</p><p>Persephone never stops.</p><p>Her sobs lose vigour and turn into imperceptible gasps, but she never stops.</p><p>She can feel her mother staring at her. And still, she cannot stop.</p><p>She doesn’t think she can ever stop.</p><p>The end of the world isn’t thwarted, it’s delayed.</p><p>The world won’t end in famine, infertility and aridness.</p><p>No, the world will end in a flood. It will end in a flood of Godly tears.</p><p>Persephone will cry until time itself has ended. She is immortal, her pain is endless.</p><p>She will cry endlessly. And everyone else will drown.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“Where are your flowers?” asks Electo.</p><p>She doesn’t know better. Nobody knows the reason for their King’s desolation.</p><p>“They are gone.”</p><p>“But they were so lovely,” she says, “They made you so happy.”</p><p>Hades doesn’t respond. </p><p>“Bring them back, My Lord.” she says. “We don’t like seeing you like this,”</p><p>“They are gone forever,” he says. “Nothing can be done.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The nymphs avoid her now. They are scared of her.</p><p>They are scared of the way she can be surrounded by sunshine and beauty—by every single luxury in the world—and still be miserable. They are scared of how she can look into the distance and tears can fall down her cheeks, without any incentive. They all think something is wrong with her.</p><p>Something <em> is </em>wrong with her.</p><p>But nothing can be done.</p><p>It was the world or him. It was the world or him and Persephone would have chosen him forever.</p><p>In the only instance that she didn’t, everything fell apart.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“There was a hearth here once,” Hestia greets. “It was warm.”</p><p>“It isn’t like you to drop by uninvited,” Hades returns.</p><p>“It isn’t like Hermes to worry about you,” she lays a hand on his cheek, “It isn’t like you to cause him worry.”</p><p>“That’s not at all comforting to hear.”</p><p>“It’s not meant to be.” Hestia says. “What happened to your hearth, Hades?”</p><p>Hades stands from his throne. He walks to his windows. His kingdom is prospering.</p><p>“I’ve never had one.” he says.</p><p>“You did,” Hestia insists. “You did, I could sense it. It was warm.”</p><p>“It was never mine.”</p><p>She shakes her head. “It was yours.”</p><p>“No,” he says. “I didn’t own it.”</p><p>“You did.”</p><p>“No,” he says, because it is too painful to admit that, <em> Yes, I did. It was mine, and solely mine. I loved it more than I have loved anything. And now it is gone. </em></p><p>“What have you done, Hades,” Hestia asks, her voice soft with concern.</p><p>“I’ve saved the world.” he says. “I’ve saved my people.”</p><p>“That’s not all,”</p><p>“No,” he agrees. “I saved her, as well.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“You never fight with me anymore,” Demeter says.</p><p>Persephone looks away from the shadows she is chasing with her eyes. “Would you like me to?”</p><p>“No,” Demeter says. “You never smile anymore, either.”</p><p>“I have used up all my smiles.”</p><p>“I don’t believe that’s ever possible, my love.”</p><p>Persephone gazes at her. “Then I have left it behind.”</p><p>Mother winces. “Your smile?”</p><p>“My heart,” she says. “I have left it behind.”</p><p>Mother sits next to her and takes her hand. “In the Underworld?”</p><p>“Inside his chest.” she says. “Inside his chest.”</p><p>“Hades,” her mother says.</p><p><em> “Hades…” </em>Persephone whispers, salt on her tongue.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Demeter finds him sitting under Persephone’s tree, watching the Fields of Asphodel.</p><p>“I should kill you.” she says.</p><p>“You should.” he agrees. “I hope that you succeed.”</p><p>She looks like she is about to try. “Give it back.”</p><p>“I have nothing to give, Demeter.” <em> Your daughter has taken it all. </em></p><p>Demeter crosses her arms. “You tricked Persephone.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You did.” she accuses. “You manipulated her and took advantage of her youth.”</p><p>“No,” Hades repeats. “She would have burned my kingdom down if I had.”</p><p>“You hurt her.” Demeter glares.</p><p>Hades thinks of her tears. He thinks of them all the time. She was crying for them both, that day. “Yes.”</p><p>“You made her love you.”</p><p>“No.” he says. “I’ve never made her do anything.”</p><p>“Then explain it.” Demeter demands. “Explain why she is in love with you.”</p><p>“I can’t.”</p><p>“You <em> can.” </em>she hisses. “You’ve existed for far longer than she has. You’ve existed for longer than me, for longer than Zeus.”</p><p>“I can’t, Demeter.”</p><p>“You’ve swayed my daughter.” she accuses. “You are evil and ancient and powerful. You saw her for her beauty and youth and you took her. You took her forcefully. You desecrated her.”</p><p>Hades looks at her, then, and he says, “There is no truth to your implications. I’ve done nothing to her except love her, and even that love was a secret one.”</p><p>“No.” Demeter refuses to listen. “You are lying.”</p><p>Hades is sick of being blamed in his own Kingdom, and for his own heart-ache. “Leave me, Demeter.”</p><p>“I will not. Give it back.”</p><p>“I have nothing left to give, she owns it all.”</p><p>Demeter stares at him in fury. She is going to try to kill him. <em> Good luck, </em>he thinks.</p><p>She takes a step back and says, “You are antisocial and supercilious. You believe you are above us all. The irony lies in the fact that your spirit is <em>weak.” </em>she spits the word. “The mortals call you evil and you let them. They dishonour your power and you <em>let them.”</em></p><p>“I do no such thing.” Hades says, tired with it all.</p><p>“I hate you.” she says. “I hate your very being and I hate you more for what you’ve done to my daughter.”</p><p>“Then you hate me for loving her.”</p><p>Demeter glowers at him, “And I hate you again because she loves you back.”</p><p>He looks back at the Meadows. “You’re in luck, Demeter. Our love is cursed.”</p><p>Demeter steps in his line of sight and slaps him. She is fearlessly idiotic.</p><p>“You are in my kingdom.” Hades tells her, trying to swallow his anger. He holds up a palm to stop the bristling Furies.</p><p>“Marry her.” she commands. “Give her back her heart.”</p><p>And Hades wishes he could. “I can’t.”</p><p>She slaps him again. “You’ve played with her. You do not love her.”</p><p><em> “Watch yourself, Demeter.” </em>He waves The Furies away. They are close to mutilating her and he is close to letting them.</p><p>“You’re bored with her. That’s why you do not wish to marry her.”</p><p>“I will never be bored with her.” Hades says. “I’m not Zeus.”</p><p>Demeter flinches. “Marry her, then. Return her happiness.”</p><p>“I can’t.” he says. He catches her wrist before a third slap can land. “You understand nothing. She can’t remain with me in The Underworld.” It hurts him to hear the truth, it hurts him to say it, “The Realm of The Dead has already begun rejecting her, it is too removed from her domain. Her lines blur when she is here, and it is only time before the pain of rejection sets in.”</p><p>Demeter snatches her wrist back and scowls at him silently for a moment.</p><p>“You are the worst thing to have ever happened to me.” she tells him. “Worse than even Zeus.”</p><p>“I can’t marry her.”</p><p>“You are a coward.” she spits.</p><p>“Stick to one insult, Demeter.”</p><p>She grits her teeth. “Let her eat the food of the Underworld.”</p><p>Hades shakes his head. Demeter is a fool. As if he has not thought of it before, as if he has never been tempted. “It would bind her permanently. It would cause the Realm of The Living to reject her. She would never be able to return, she is not powerful enough.”</p><p>“Do it.” Demeter commands.</p><p>“You would never see her again, not like you see her now.”</p><p>She flushes in anger. <em> “Do it.” </em></p><p>“It wouldn’t make her happy,” he says, frowning at Demeter’s stupidity. “She loves you.”</p><p>“She loves you, as well,”</p><p>“Then she is cursed.” he says. “She is cursed, just like me.”</p><p>“None of the realms reject Hermes.” she accuses, trying to catch out a lie that doesn’t exist.</p><p>“He is an intermediary.” Hades sighs.</p><p>“There must be—you aren’t <em> trying </em>to find a solution,” she scowls. “You do not love her enough.”</p><p>Hades wants to let his Furies destroy her, but he holds back, just barely.</p><p>He takes a deliberate breath. “If there was a way—if there was a way for her to be happy with me, if there was a single way for us to <em> be </em>without having to sacrifice our duties and our other loves, then I would take it in a heartbeat.”</p><p>“There must be,” Demeter says. “There has to be.”</p><p>“We are governed by laws, Demeter.” he wishes she would just <em> understand. </em></p><p>“You aren’t <em> trying.” </em>she hisses, refusing to relent.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>When Persephone sees it, she believes she has finally lost her mind. She wonders what an eternity of insanity will feel like. </p><p>Standing there, in his black chariot, is her apparition, her cacodaemon.</p><p>He watches her and his lines blur. He is difficult to look at.</p><p>Persephone looks at him and her eyes tear. She has gone insane. She has lost her mind. And she is so happy she can feel herself smiling. She walks towards him. If only he were real.</p><p>“Persephone,” he says.</p><p>“Cacodaemon.” she returns. “My cacodaemon.”</p><p>“Persephone, I’ve never told you.”</p><p>“You’ve never told me a lot,” she says. “Like your favourite food.”</p><p>He smiles. Persephone wants to trap him in her hands.</p><p>“Your mother came for me,” he says. “She came to The Underworld.”</p><p>This is what Persephone has always wanted to hear. Her insanity is so kind to her.</p><p>“Wait for me,” he says. “There might be a way,”</p><p>“I love you,” she tells him, “I love you. I wish I could have told you.”</p><p>“You did.”</p><p>“I didn’t. Not enough.”</p><p>He takes her hand. His skin is so cold. Her mind remembers his every detail.</p><p>“I’ve never told you,” he says.</p><p>“Your favourite food?” she teases.</p><p>He bows his head and kisses her palm. His kisses are cold, as well. She wonders what they’re like in reality. </p><p>He glances up at her and his eyes are black. He is her demon, he is her apparition. She would give him her soul if he asked.</p><p>“I love you.” he says.</p><p>She cups his face with her palm, “You finally admit it.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>He visits Athena for wisdom. He visits Apollo for a chance at prophecy.</p><p>He visits Artemis because he remembers that she is fond of Persephone, and neither wisdom nor prophecy have granted much aid.</p><p>He makes a very big mistake and visits Aphrodite, because love is her domain and he is a fool in it. He leaves with nothing but a splitting headache.</p><p>He visits Zeus, because he is running out of <em> options, </em>and perhaps this will finally be the day that Zeus pulls his head out of his nether-regions long enough to be of help. He leaves with a reaffirmation that Zeus is truly, The Worst.</p><p>Hades is one of the most powerful beings in existence, and he runs around the three realms asking for help.</p><p>The Underworld is in chaos, their King is missing and Hecate, his stand-in, is complacent. She is too busy playing with the dead to govern them. Hades grits his teeth and strips her of her position. He gives it to Thanatos, instead.</p><p>This opens up a plethora of new problems. It seems the inhabitants of The Underworld have waited for this very day to be everything other than peaceful. He wonders if they are doing it to irritate him. He wonders if the entire cosmos has secretly conspired against him. Of course, that would be ridiculous. Though he does suspect that these tribulations are at least partly caused by Aphrodite’s spite.</p><p>He visits Hestia and asks if she could give his hearth back to him. She shakes her head sadly and says that metaphysical hearths are not entirely under her jurisdiction. At least when he leaves, he does so with sympathy and kind encouragement.</p><p>He thinks about visiting The Moirai, but he doesn’t want to know if Persephone is in his fate. Some realities are self-fulfilling, and for once, Hades wishes to be optimistic.</p><p>So he forces optimism, and he remains determined, and he does it all for her—to stop her tears and to return her heart, wherever she believes she has left it.</p><p>He wonders what the use of all his power is, if he cannot even keep the only thing he has ever desired.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“I bear a message for you,” says Hermes. “I assure you it is of interest.”</p><p>Persephone is sitting in the place where she was accidentally abducted. It is a field of yellow daffodils.</p><p>“It is from Hades,” Hermes continues, when she shows no sign of responding.</p><p>“Tell me.” she commands, instantly. “How is he?”</p><p>“Which first?”</p><p>“How is he,” Persephone says, “Tell me how he is,”</p><p>Hermes tilts his head in thought. “He is changed.”</p><p>“For the worse?” she worries.</p><p>“For the more interesting,”</p><p><em> “Answer me, Hermes,” </em>she snarls.</p><p>Hermes sends her an amused look, “He is simply in love—with you, so I’ve heard.”</p><p>“I am aware.” she says. “Tell me how he fares.”</p><p>“He fares badly,” Hermes answers.</p><p>“How badly.”</p><p>“Enough, that for a while, I feared I would lose my biggest source of entertainment.”</p><p>“You are so annoying.” she says. “You are so completely annoying. Hades should feed you to Cerberus.”</p><p>“He already has,” admits Hermes, grinning. “It becomes less of a punishment every time.”</p><p>“You are a pervert.” says Persephone. “Does he ever smile?”</p><p>“Never.”</p><p>“What about his health?”</p><p>“He is as immortal as he has always been, and will always be.”</p><p>“Does he cry?” she asks, increasingly upset.</p><p>Hermes looks at her. “In his heart.”</p><p>Persephone says, “He hurts.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>And she needs a moment of silence—to wish that it was all different. To wish his pains away, to swallow her tears. She is the most pathetic Immortal in existence—no one else cries as much as her.</p><p>Hermes asks, “Shall I relay his message?”</p><p>She nods.</p><p>He coughs before relaying, <em> “Wait for me. I love you.” </em></p><p>She closes her eyes and nods again. She wonders if this is part of her insanity, as well. She wonders if she cares.</p><p>“Relay a message back for me,” she tells Hermes.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Hades sits in his chariot above Tartarus. He watches redemption in action and ruminates over what he knows. He is trying dearly to focus on what he <em> knows </em> and not what he <em> wishes </em>he did. He hopes that Athena’s words will fall into place soon; that they will result in an epiphany.</p><p>He watches Tantalus thirst while standing in a pool of water. He watches him reach for a fruit just a breath away from his face, and he watches his failure as the fruit moves just a breath more. The fruit will remain at that imperceptible distance and Tantalus will continue to both starve and thirst for the rest of eternity.</p><p>Hades thinks that it is a well-deserved punishment, he is not sorry.</p><p>He is reminded of his own desperation, though, and it is not a pleasant feeling.</p><p>And he wishes, he wishes, he <em> yearns </em>for Athena’s words to fall into place. How does one become an intermediary between realms? How does the Goddess of—flowers, it must be—how does a Goddess of life find a home—or at least a place—in the Realm of The Dead?</p><p>Why does the world have to be the way that it is, why must the universe be governed by laws, why can’t it just—why? Why, why, why? And more importantly, <em> how? </em></p><p>A broken cry leaves Tantalus’ lips. Hades huffs.</p><p>He can visit the Realm of the Living. If he wasn’t tied by obligation and affection to his Kingdom, he could live there as well. Not without pain, of course. There would be pain, rejection is always painful. But the pain would be bearable. </p><p>If <em> only </em> Persephone was as powerful as him. If <em> only </em>she would feel a bearable pain.</p><p>But she is weak, and the pain would be excruciating.</p><p>And either way… Persephone in pain—that is a reality Hades never wants to live through.</p><p>That is a reality he currently <em> is </em>living through. Or existing through. What a fool love has made him, to think of his existence as life.</p><p>How do Gods become more powerful? Through time, through eons. The problem with waiting is that love has awoken in him an impatience he has never felt before. Time has never moved slower. Perhaps it is slowing, even now. Perhaps it will slow so completely that it will stand still. It will stand still, and Persephone will continue to ache, and Hades will remain without a hearth.</p><p>Nothing is making any sense.</p><p>If she eats the food of the dead… no. She—<em>no. </em>It would be disastrous. She would not be happy. She would not be happy throwing everything away for him. It shouldn’t have to be that way. It shouldn’t have to be him or the world. Not ever. Hades would never force that choice on her.</p><p>It should be tempting to be selfish. It would be <em> smart </em> to be selfish. But he has become a fool, and nothing is more important than her happiness, it trumps even his own. If only she loved someone else. If only it was solely <em> his </em> heart that was breaking.</p><p>If only he could find it within him to be selfish… if only she didn’t have those other loves… if only, if only.</p><p>These <em> Ifs </em>have consumed his mind.</p><p>“Hades,” comes Hermes’ voice.</p><p>Hades doesn’t break his distracted gaze.</p><p>“Persephone sends—”</p><p><em> “Relay the message.” </em>Hades commands, glowering at Hermes with flagrant ferocity. </p><p>Hermes sends him an amused look in return. “Verbatim?”</p><p>“Yes.” he snaps.</p><p>
  <em> “I’ll wait forever for you. I love you. Marry me.”  </em>
</p><p>Helplessly, Hades feels the corners of his lips rising. It’s so impertinent of her to ask for his hand. He’s so much more—<em> Marriage.  </em></p><p>A minor Goddess may not have enough power to exist in the realms of both The Living and Dead, but the Queen of The Underworld… <em> The Queen of The Underworld will. </em></p><p>The Queen of The Underworld.</p><p>Will she accept the position? Will she be a wise queen? No, she isn’t the least bit wise. Commanding, though. And lovable. Terrifying, as well—Minos is scared of her. Will she be happy? Will his Kingdom make her happy?</p><p>Would marriage be enough to bind her? Maybe if it happened in The Underworld. Maybe if the act of consummation… </p><p>“Are my eyes playing tricks on me,” Hermes asks, “or are you blushing?</p><p>“Leave.” Hades commands. “No, wait.”</p><p>Hermes smirks.</p><p>“Tell her… no, don’t tell her anything.”</p><p>Hermes sends Hades a look which is far too knowing for Hades’ liking. “I feel obligated to tell you that there is more to her message.”</p><p>Hades feels his heart drop, which is absurd given that he is ageless and omnipotent. The words of little Godlings shouldn’t be able to hold this much power over him. </p><p>“Speak,” Hades says, after a short pause.</p><p>Hermes clears his throat. <em> “Stop feeding Hermes to Cerberus. Cerberus doesn’t deserve the punishment.” </em></p><p>Hades snaps his fingers and Hermes is expelled from the underworld.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Persephone stares at the flower for a solid hour before she realises why it gives her such a strong sense of déjà vu.</p><p>It looks exactly the same as the flower which changed everything. The flower which broke the very earth and led straight into Hades.</p><p>And Persephone can’t help but walk over to it and pluck it. She can’t help wishing the earth under her feet would fall apart and she would fall, and fall, and fall.</p><p>And she <em> falls. </em></p><p>She falls and she is in so much shock that her wish has come true that her mind doesn’t process her surroundings. The flower in her grasp is crushed completely in the frenzy.</p><p><em> Let me fall into his arms, </em>she whispers in her mind.</p><p>And she closes her eyes as tightly as she can. One miracle is already too much to ask for, two would be absurd. She prepares herself for disappointment.</p><p>But when she stops falling, she does so in arms that she dreams of every waking moment. They are cold, and Persephone barely opens her eyes before she pulls his head down and kisses him.</p><p>And she kisses him.</p><p>The euphoria is so immense that it is only when he lets her down that she realises her skin is burning.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“So you accept my proposal.” Persephone says.</p><p>Hades looks at her incredulously. “Is that all you got out of my words?”</p><p>“It was the only thing of personal interest.”</p><p>“Thank you, Persephone.” Hades deadpans.</p><p>“Are you shy to admit that you accept my proposal?” Persephone asks. “Is that why you won’t say it in those words?”</p><p>Hades narrows his eyes. “I am the King of The Underworld.”</p><p>“And I am your Queen.” she grins. “As soon as you say the words, Hades.”</p><p>He pauses. It is humiliating that she is right. Why is she always right? Perhaps she is the Goddess of Winning Every Argument.</p><p><em> This is ridiculous. </em>He takes a deep breath. “I accept your proposal.”</p><p>She beams and standing on the tips of her toes, pulls him downwards.</p><p>“I have your hand.” she says, against his lips.</p><p>“It was always yours,” he returns, smiling.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t like wearing a veil. She feels strange, she has never worn one before.</p><p>And she is impatient.</p><p>They are not mortals, there is no need for a drawn-out ceremony. There was no <em> proaulia. </em>Persephone’s mother is still in the Realm of the Living, being disturbingly quiet and unnaturally helpful. </p><p>There is no <em> gamos, </em> either. There is no series of rituals. Neither will there be an <em> eupalia. </em>Gods have no need for gifts.</p><p>Regardless of all this, Hades insisted she wear a veil. She suspects he is just nervous. He is quite possibly the oldest bachelor in existence.</p><p>She doesn’t understand what they are doing right now. If Hades was being honest, he’d admit that neither does he. They don’t know how to get married. Persephone wonders how <em> any </em>God has ever gotten married. Perhaps they have all just announced their marriage and got on with their existence.</p><p>“Maybe we have to sleep together,” she offers. “Have sex, I mean.”</p><p>A fine golden sheen covers Hades’ face. He is blushing like a maiden. It is utterly adorable.</p><p>“Are you a virgin?” she asks him, revelling in his embarrassment.</p><p>“Of course not.” he says, indignantly.</p><p>She crosses her arms.</p><p>“There is no such concept as Godly virginity.” he mutters, avoiding her glare. “I haven’t—in mortal terms, I would be classified as… virginal—in nature.”</p><p>She smiles at him. “A virgin.”</p><p>He flushes. “Must we speak about this?”</p><p>“I’m a virgin, too.” she tells him. “And what in Olympus’ name are you saying? Of course Godly virginity is a concept—look at Athena and Artemis. Hestia, as well.”</p><p>He looks away. “Godly <em> male </em>virginity—”</p><p>“Is no different to Godly <em> female </em>virginity.” she finishes. “You are a virgin.”</p><p>He coughs. “Yes.”</p><p>“Let’s have sex.”</p><p>
  <em> “Persephone.” </em>
</p><p>“What?” she asks, faking innocence for the sake of teasing him, “Are you shy?” </p><p>“We’re not married yet!”</p><p>She tears her veil off. “Yes, we are.”</p><p>He stares at her like she is insane.</p><p>She announces, loudly and to no-one, “We are married as of now.”</p><p>“We haven’t—”</p><p>“I have said that we are married and therefore we are.” she repeats. “It is sufficient. I am a God.”</p><p>Hades wears a skeptical expression on his face. “Your lines are still blurring.”</p><p>“Irrelevant.” she waves her hand. “I can handle it.”</p><p>He frowns down at her. “Your skin is still burning.”</p><p>“Sleep with me, and it will stop.” she says.</p><p>“You don’t—”</p><p>“Oh, for the love of—” she grabs a handful of his robes and pulls him downwards.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Hades finally understands what it means to look at someone and think, <em> Beautiful. </em></p><p>She is a treasure. And she is his.</p><p>Hades is the luckiest God in existence.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“That was…” she starts, after the—act.</p><p>Hades shushes her and puts a hand over her mouth. “No speaking.”</p><p>She raises an eyebrow provocatively.</p><p>“That won’t work.” he says. “I am immune to you.”</p><p>She kisses his palm and says, muffled, against his skin, “Liar.”</p><p>But instead of getting flustered, he raises on his elbows and frowns down at her. “Persephone,”</p><p>She looks at him questioningly.</p><p>“You’re still blurring,” he says.</p><p>She looks down at her skin, and sure enough, her mind registers the exacerbating burn. She begins to frown as well.</p><p>“But we’re married,” she says.</p><p>Hades sits up. He puts his tousled head into his hands.</p><p>“Hades,” she says, softly.</p><p>“It didn’t work.” he returns. “You’re still being rejected.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t leave.” Persephone says, in anger.</p><p>Hades turns to her sadly. It’s so hard to look at her. She must be in so much pain.</p><p>“I’m not leaving!” she yells. “I’m the Queen!”</p><p>He wishes he could cry. He wishes there was some way of expelling this horrible, horrible ache from his heart.</p><p>They are both standing in the dining room. The scene is almost an exact replica of Hades’ worst memory.</p><p>“We are married.” she says, unshed tears of fury in her eyes. “I’m not leaving.”</p><p>“You’re being rejected by my realm, Persephone.” he whispers. He doesn’t have it in him to say it louder.</p><p>“I don’t care!” she roars.</p><p>“I do.” he returns, even quieter than before. “You’re hurting.”</p><p>“So are you!”</p><p><em> We are cursed, Persephone, </em>he thinks.</p><p>She wipes her eyes furiously and takes a deep breath. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving you.”</p><p>Hades closes his eyes. If only he never had to open them again. If only it could all just… <em> fix </em>itself, somehow.</p><p>“We are married.” comes Persephone’s voice. “My heart is bound to yours.”</p><p><em> How terribly it all hurts, </em>he thinks, his eyes still closed.</p><p>“And my body is bound to The Underworld,” she continues.</p><p><em> If only, </em> he shakes his head. <em> If only I could be so selfish. </em></p><p>“Open your eyes, Hades.” she commands.</p><p>He opens his eyes. And his breath stops.</p><p>“I am bound to The Underworld.” she says from the table, holding up a handful of pomegranate seeds. “I have eaten the Fruit of The Underworld.”</p><p><em> “No.” </em> Hades says, horrified. “What have you done—no, <em> Persephone,” </em> he is walking forward, without even realising, “Persephone, you foolish girl, you— <em> why,” </em> he can barely understand what has just happened.</p><p>She maintains eye contact with him as she puts another seed into her mouth. He follows the movement with his eyes. He doesn’t understand how he fell in love with such a crazy person; how he is still so completely in love with her, despite his growing anger.</p><p>“I’m staying.” she says, as her lines solidify.</p><p>She raises another seed to her mouth. </p><p>Hades waves a hand and the pomegranate vanishes. <em> “Enough.” </em></p><p>She dons a defensive expression. “I’m staying.”</p><p>“Do you realise what you’ve done?” he asks her, stalking forward.</p><p>“Choose you over everything.”</p><p>He says. “You idiot.”</p><p>“Only in love.” she agrees.</p><p>“No.” he says, taking her arm. “We’re going to Zeus. There must be—it was only a few seeds. It doesn’t need to be—”</p><p>“I’m <em> not leaving.” </em>she pulls her arm backwards.</p><p><em> “Persephone.” </em>he pleads. </p><p>“Hades.” she returns. “I’m staying.”</p><p>“No.” he says, adamantly.</p><p>Her brows furrow and she waves a hand. Hades watches in astonishment as a pomegranate materialises in her palm.</p><p>“I told you.” She eats a seed. “I’m the Queen of The Underworld.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Persephone finally knows what she is the Goddess of.</p><p>She’s the Goddess of The Underworld. She is the Queen of The Underworld.</p><p>The Furies, the souls, the consequences. All of it, it is hers. And she is theirs. She is their queen.</p><p>It is not an easy job, but it is worthwhile and interesting. To her, that has always been more important.</p><p>Hades is not an easy husband. He is reticent, stubborn, and weirdly soft-hearted. But he is gentle and loyal and so very dear. She loves him so much, and he loves her back.</p><p>She learns how to rule her kingdom properly. She learns to be kinder, when need be. She learns sympathy. Things are rarely ever as they seem, so she learns to be circumspect.</p><p>And with the wisdom and growth, comes power. With the power, comes the ability to visit her mother. And with every visit, the ice on the earth thaws, and the plants can breath.</p><p>Like this comes another title: The Goddess of Spring. The harbinger of life.</p><p>The God with no name now has two. She spends half the year as The Goddess of Spring, and the other half as The Queen of The Underworld.</p><p>The Mortal Realm has changed. The world fluctuates in cycles and the mortals learn to adapt. They have always been resilient.</p><p>They learn to thrive. The cold, winter months bring their own charm. </p><p>With this new title, Persephone becomes an intermediary. Her lines never blur, anymore. She carries within herself the discordant harmony of Life and Death. This outcome wasn’t planned, it simply came to be, and for a while, Persephone can’t help but wonder if existence is always like this—if it always has a way of simply working out.</p><p>She knows, of course, that she was just absurdly lucky. She has met enough of The Dead to recognise her privilege. Still though, she wonders, remembering all the tears, the worries, if existence isn't always as cruel as Hades believes.</p><p>It is just a shame that her mother, out of maternal spite, spread all those rumours about Hades—that he abducted her and forced her and took advantage of her innocence (Persephone laughed for <em>years</em>when she heard that one. If anything, Persephone was the one taking advantage.)</p><p>The mortals fear Hades more than ever, but they are simply mortals and what they care doesn’t matter. What <em>anyone</em> else cares doesn't matter. Persephone thinks Hades understands this better now, as well. </p><p>He is happier, Persephone thinks.</p><p>“Have mercy,” the soul begs at Persephone’s feet.</p><p>Both the King and Queen of The Underworld are overlooking the judgement of an escaped soul.</p><p>Persephone eyes the soul placidly. “You are a fool.”</p><p>The soul prostrates himself at her feet. “I—”</p><p>Persephone withholds the desire to roll her eyes. “You are a fool for thinking I am the sympathetic one out of the two of us.”</p><p>The soul looks up at her in confusion and dawning horror.</p><p>Persephone smiles and touches the flower behind Hades' ear. </p><p>“Lord Hades!—” cries the soul.</p><p>“An hour in Tartarus should suffice,” Hades says, without preamble, waving the soul away.</p><p>After he disappears, Persephone turns in her seat. “An hour?”</p><p>Hades raises his eyebrows, “Was it too much?”</p><p>“Are you kidding me? He was so annoying, you should have said one week.”</p><p>Hades shakes his head, smiling.</p><p>“I’m serious, Hades.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Persephone sits back in her throne. “All of them are fools.”</p><p>He laughs. “For thinking the pretty, young woman will be kinder than the tall, gloomy man?”</p><p>Persephone scoffs. “Anyone can see that you are the soft-hearted one.”</p><p>“Yes, it is my expression. It’s so amicable, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Oh, shut up.” she says, without any heat. “On the contrary, it’s your eyes.”</p><p>“Because they make me look handsome?” he asks, jokingly.</p><p>“Because they give you away as a pushover.” she corrects.</p><p>They appraise each other in silence for a while.</p><p>“Remember when you used to love me?” Hades asks. “I do. It was nice.”</p><p>She laughs and takes his hand, placing a kiss on his knuckles.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> End. </em>
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